Arachnophobia
by Sniggyfrumps
Summary: The memory may be long gone, but the fear is always there; scuttling along on countless thin legs. - Pre-series oneshot. Dark.


**A/N: **Oh Mandarin you wacky card - I want to kill you in your sleep via a fork through the eye. A _dull_ one. Made of _plastic._

(Thanks to beautybelle300256 for beta reading - she's just pure awesome and her mad editing skillz could easily punch out a Bear Shark. And your mom.)

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**Arachnophobia**

Standing in the dimly lit medical centre, Gibson looked up at the features of his yellow sister who were obscured by the glass surface of the healing tube.

Nova was motionless and unresponsive; encased in the thick, curative liquid essential to the healing process. The scientist couldn't remember ever seeing the yellow monkey in such a rare state of total passiveness and vulnerability.

The sight reminded him of the slab of amber in his desk drawer in which a large mosquito-esque insect was preserved for the ages. Its legs were long and thin, its wings as delicate as coloured glass, the multi-facetted eyes like tiny painted clay beads - all in all the creature seemed so frail that it might break if not securely encased in the hardened material.

Gibson suddenly felt a twinge of queasiness and turned away from the tube; instead heading for the print-outs from the Training Room recorders to try and figure out what had spurred the abnormal fluctuation in the temperature settings earlier that week.

So absorbed in his work was Gibson that he did not hear the doors whizz open, or the clapping of feet against the metal flooring. It was only through some strange sixth sense that he suddenly realised the new presence in the room.

Gibson turned to find Mandarin staring at the immobile she-warrior.

As the doctor finds a visitor to his patient, he often finds it customary to politely expand upon the details of the patient's present condition. Gibson rose and walked to his Leader's side to do just that but the words of assurance and in-depth details of damages to the heat sensors and frostbites in inopportune places were caught in his throat when he caught the look on Mandarin's face.

It was a facial expression far too pleased for his joy to be merely rude; rather it was incredibly distasteful and not a little disturbing.

Mandarin ever so slowly turned his head to look at the flabbergasted scientist whose face clearly expressed his distaste and confusion for the situation as well as his unwillingness to reprimand his stern Leader for this face to face.

Seeing this, the edges of Mandarin's smile curved ever so slightly more upwards. Then something in his periphery vision caught the orange monkey's attention and his arm lashed out and back so quickly that Gibson wouldn't be sure whether Mandarin had moved at all if not for the wriggling creature now caught in the orange monkey's closed fist.

Gibson frowned. He didn't really mind spiders; they did prey upon a lot of harmful insects, but their unsanitary cobwebs were less than pleasant to remove.

The rather large arachnid fought for its freedom in a grip that was firm and left no opportunity for escape; yet it was surprisingly gentle and didn't harm its prisoner, only contained it within Mandarin's grasp. The pleased look smeared across his muzzle seemed to radiate ceaseless adoration and want to protect - the orange monkey looked at the wrestling creature with something akin to the devotion one might bestow upon a hopelessly loyal animal companion.

Then Mandarin reached out and pulled a leg off the spider.

Not swift and unexpectedly, oh no. Slowly, he lifted his hand, warily approaching the little creature, and clasped one struggling appendage between his thumb and index finger and - clearly relishing the moment - leisurely peeled it off the body of the object of his fond disposition.

He twirled the still writhing leg between his fingers in slight marvel at having the creature in two places at once. Then he crushed it to a fine powder and watched it fall to the floor.

Gibson watched arms hanging dumbly at his sides, petrified and speechless as leg after leg was torn off in equally long, drawn-out movements and each spindly limb, as delicate as thread, was reduced to dust with a deliriously joyful grin accompanying Mandarin's ruthless undertaking.

The scientist felt as though a huge vacuum had been introduced to the medical centre and that his body was being pulled in a hundred different directions all at once. He felt a strong, instinctual urge to tear himself away from the macabre display; to remove himself from Mandarin's presence; to simply _run_ as a genuine fright and foreboding washed over him, but his legs were tied down by a pressure measuring several thousand Pascal. He had never before - never in the face of a thousand armies of Formless Minions; of mutated, malicious monsters; never in the most desperate fight face to face with the Skeleton King himself - felt such an intense fear for the wellbeing and future safety of himself and his close ones.

Mandarin, having done what he wanted with the spider let its limp body fall to the floor before he looked Gibson straight in the eyes. He saw every un-enacted urge and unspoken fear.

He smiled - and walked away. He didn't care.

It was in that moment Gibson knew. He knew what had happened in the Training Room and he knew _why_ it had happened. And the thought frightened him senseless; overcame every logical explanation he pitiably tried to concoct with an ice-cold realisation.

Ever since then, whenever he heard the scuttling of many tiny legs across a surface he would always shudder and feel that pang of guilt, and nausea, and pure, primal fear for his life - because no matter how many legs they had, they could never run fast enough; never escape what had happened.


End file.
